


Captive

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Collars, Ficlet, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville's been caught by the Death Eaters but makes the best of it and plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imera/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
> 
> Gift for Imera.

Neville fingers the thick green dog collar around his neck absently, and he can feel the magic spark beneath his fingers.

The restricting magic. It keeps his own abilities at bay and his hands still, should he try to harm his new ‘master,’ or any of the other Death Eaters. Not that he’s seen many others. He’s been locked in the same bedroom since he was first captured. There’s a small, attached bathroom off to the side, and food is delivered to him by hand for every meal. He’s been here for five days, and the largest glimpse he’s gotten of another Death Eater was a hungry Rodolphus Lestrange trailing in after his master, apparently intent on finishing a job started long ago.

Neville’s master shooed him out with more force than Neville’s ever seen out of the small blond, and Draco’s kept the room clear ever since.

Just in case, Neville’s dressed for show: shirtless and in tight, black leather trousers, and he’s collared to the foot of the bed. The ancient Malfoy Manor enchantments might be enough to keep most people out of Draco’s bedroom, but they certainly wouldn’t work on Voldemort, and Draco’s terrified that the truth of Neville’s capture might just come out.

Draco took him from Bellatrix to save him and hasn’t tortured him once since. Or at least, so Neville heavily suspects. Draco hasn’t even been verbally mean with him, like the way Draco used to. He’s been a cowering, flinching shadow of his former self, who brings Neville food every meal with an unwaveringly guilty expression. Clearly, he doesn’t have the stomach to really be a _Death Eater_. He got dragged in too soon, too young, with the illusions of a spoilt brat who didn’t know the first thing about war or loss. He sleeps on the far end of the bed, facing away, and always throws a pillow to Neville on the floor. Neville understands the need for precautions but really doesn’t think Voldemort’s apt to check in. Draco’s ineptitude at true cruelty is plain enough to see, and he doesn’t think Draco’s a particularly good Legilimens, either.

When Draco comes out of the shower, Neville looks up from his place on the floor next to the bed. Draco looks at Neville nervously, like he always does, and hesitates before heading to his drawers. A white towel is wrapped around his waist, and the rest of him is still damp, platinum hair slicked down with water. Neville levelly watches him move about the room. It’s difficult, after having nothing else to look at for so long, to not really _look_ at Draco.

Draco looks like a panicked wreck plastered on a gorgeous doll. His body is lithe and pale, his shape delicate and beautiful, his face sharp and model-esque, and his eyes have dark circles around them from not enough sleep. When he pulls his pajama set out of the drawer, he glances over his shoulder at Neville, who’s still staring.

Neville doesn’t look away; he meets Draco’s grey eyes dead on. He isn’t the frightened child he once was. He fought the Carrows before being dragged here, he was prepared to fight Voldemort, and he can certainly handle Draco. Even if he is half-naked and chained to the bed. When the gaze lingers too long, Neville raises an eyebrow, and Draco flushes pink.

“Can you look away?” Draco’s voice is too shaky to be the command he tries to make it.

Neville considers asking why Draco doesn’t just take his clothes back to the bathroom. Instead Neville just keeps staring, not so much vindictive as bored and stubborn.

Draco’s blush darkens, and he scowls. He looks better scowling than he does miserable—and more reminiscent of _himself_ —so it feels like an accomplishment to have changed that. Draco turns his back to Neville and tugs the silver, silk top over his shoulders. He buttons it up, head hung forward, shoulder blades moving through the thin fabric. When Draco drops the towel hesitantly, Neville stares at Draco’s taut ass, like Neville always does when he gets the chance. At first, it was just to make Draco uncomfortable—vague payback. Now it’s a little more than that, and possibilities run through Neville’s mind.

Draco tugs on new boxers and trousers that match the top, then strolls over to the bathroom to put the towel away. Neville still watches him. After exiting the bathroom, he heads for the light switch by the door, and the room is thrown into darkness, illuminated by the starlight streaming in from the far wall. Draco’s curtains are too light to do much, and Neville, at first, teased him about being afraid of the dark.

Now Neville says a little louder than necessary, “I’m hungry,” and Draco’s back tenses, still at the light switch.

He says without moving, in a strained voice, “I already fed you today.”

Neville waits for Draco to regain normal breathing and move. Then Draco walks the long way around the bed to avoid Neville. He slips underneath his dark green duvet, and Neville says, “I didn’t mean for food.”

He doesn’t need to look around to know that Draco’s stiff as a board again. Neville smiles in spite of himself and waits, testing the silent air. When Draco doesn’t seem ready to snap back—and more importantly, doesn’t seem angry—Neville slowly rises to his feet. The collar doesn’t let him stand up more than a step away from the bedpost, so he’s stuck in his corner. He perches on the mattress anyway, leather-covered legs folded beneath him. Draco is frozen, curled up on his end, looking at Neville with wide eyes. Sometimes Neville feels like the predator. He’s the one that hasn’t broken, and Draco acts like a prisoner in his own home. He has a wand, unlike Neville, and his magic isn’t stifled, and he isn’t wearing only gaudy trousers and his master’s collar. But he doesn’t have any courage, and Neville isn’t worried. Even this exposed.

Puberty was good to Neville. He might not be a Quidditch star, but he’s still earned himself a faint six-pack, and he’s still lightly muscled in all the right places. He leans against his bedpost and dares Draco in a quiet, promising purr, “Loosen my leash.”

Neville isn’t sexually experienced by any stretch of the imagination. His voice isn’t practiced, and he doesn’t know how alluring he’s really being. But Draco flushes red enough that Neville can tell even through the darkness and practically squeaks, “What?”

“I’m hungry,” Neville repeats, and he isn’t at all talking about the way he licked strawberry juice from Draco’s fingers earlier. Draco doesn’t mean to feed him by hand, but sometimes Neville’s too fast for him, darting out before its transferred hands. Judging from Draco’s expression, he’s sharing similar memories. Neville drawls, “Why don’t you loosen my leash a little bit?”

“I... I can’t do that...” Draco gulps. But he’s sitting up a little straighter, no longer lying down at all. His pink tongue darts out to swipe over his lips, endearing and cute. Neville wouldn’t be confident enough to try this if he didn’t think he had a chance, and Draco’s flustered reactions give him hope. “...If... if the Dark Lord ever found out, he’d...”

“I didn’t ask you to untie me,” Neville interrupts.

Draco tries to attempt a scowl and probably doesn’t realize how forced it looks. “I’d be in enough trouble already, with how I treat you. I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re not going to finagle it any better...”

Neville tries not to grin too wide, knowing that’s exactly what he’s doing. A pact with the devil, a way to get a foot in the door, a leg up. And if it doesn’t work, at least he can have a little fun in the process. It’s ridiculously boring being locked in a bedroom all day and all night, not even able to move about it, except when he’s Imperiused into the washroom. If he could get Draco to take him in there by hand, instead, and gain a little trust...

Neville isn’t stupid enough to try and escape immediately, anyway. At least, not without Draco. If he did, it would mean certain death for his captor/protector, and without a wand, an escape attempt through a Death Eater infested mansion would be suicide. Neville very much intends to live through this war. There’re plenty of _real_ Death Eaters left he has to kill.

Draco’s a beautiful bonus on the side, and he bites and chews at his bottom lip when Neville murmurs, “Wouldn’t it look better for you if you used me? You’re a man, you’ve got the same need...”

“And you’re a Gryffindor,” Draco scoffs. But it’s weaker. And Neville can see in his eyes that it’s becoming more of a possibility—if it would make him look stronger to the others...

Neville takes a moment before muttering, “ _Your_ Gryffindor.” Draco’s eyes flare, and Neville shrugs, adding, “Besides, I _am_ a pureblood...”

Looking like his throat has gone dry, Draco works his mouth a bit, as if hesitating to speak. “...A... a blood traitor...”

“So you caught me. Make me pay the price.” He tilts his head back, watching Draco through half-lidded eyes. His hands are loose in his lap, legs folded beneath him. He tries to look seductive and not menacing. It seems ridiculous to try and look that way to _Draco_ , of all people, who really has that look down pat. But the sides have reversed, and Neville tries. 

Draco licks his lips. “If you’re trying to escape...”

“I want you.”

So much for being subtle.

Draco stiffens, and Neville doesn’t stop. He’s breaking Draco down, he can tell, and he does what he has to to close the deal. “I can’t use magic even if I wanted to—I think we both know how stupid it would be of me to try and run. ...Look, if you don’t want to lengthen my chain, that’s alright... come here instead...”

He eyes Draco’s form for show, although it’s not at all hard to do. Draco looks both extremely tempted and skeptical as he repeats carefully, “You want me...?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you look like.”

Draco watches him, seeming to consider. Neville can see that he’s already won and stays quiet.

Draco takes a few more minutes before shifting quietly out of the covers, moving to all fours across the smooth, green duvet. He pauses, and drawls quietly, “I’m not going to untie you.”

Neville tries not to grin too wide and nods. “That’s fine.” He shifts his legs out in front of him, spreading them a little, giving Draco a lap to crawl into. He leaves his arms at his sides—he doesn’t want to frighten Draco away.

Draco licks his lips again. Then he crawls forward at a cautious snail’s pace, drawling, “You can’t hurt me—the collar will stop you.”

Neville nods again as Draco shifts to climb over Neville’s legs. He wasn’t sure, originally, how the power would work in this. He wanted to be on top, naturally, and apparently, Draco’s going to let him. It’s even better than he wanted. Draco settles into his lap, laying delicate hands atop his broad, bare shoulders, and Draco’s grey eyes are already half-lidded, his cheeks a dusty rose colour. He looks half-done already, like he’s been dreaming of this and it’s all coming true. Neville lifts his hands very slowly and places them on Draco’s sides. Draco gasps slightly at the touch, and Neville holds his thin waist through the luxurious material of his pajamas. Draco seems to search Neville’s eyes for what to do next, and Neville, despite his position, despite everything restraining him, feels like he’s the one with the power.

He tilts his head and leans forward a little. Draco gasps again as their chests press together, and Neville waits for him to close the rest of the space. Draco hesitates before doing so, and as soon as their lips touch, Neville’s fingers tighten in Draco’s sides. Draco slides his arms further around Neville’s neck, and in the span of a heartbeat, it’s gone from nothing to everything—Neville slips his tongue into Draco’s mouth, and they kiss with a kind of fervor Neville didn’t even know he had. Draco tastes somewhere between chocolate and vanilla, delicious, sugary, and warm, and he leans so far into Neville that the back of Neville’s skull hits the bedpost. Draco’s body grinds into Neville’s, and they kiss wildly. It takes over and fogs Neville’s brain, and he starts to rub at Draco’s hips, thumbing him and wanting the fabric gone. Draco kisses Neville like it’s all he ever wanted. He crushes their bodies together.

When he pulls back, he looks frantic and ravaged, his lips kiss swollen and wet. He presses his forehead to Neville’s, and he drawls quietly, “I want to ride you so badly.”

Neville urges: “Do it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Neville’s sleeping when Draco comes back from... whatever it is shitty Death Eaters do all day. He’s curled up on his side in the bed, head nestled in the pillows, the cuffs around his wrists not attached to each other and his collar firmly fixed to the headboard. Draco shakes him violently awake, and as Neville groggily rolls over onto his back, Draco’s climbing atop him. 

Draco straddles his waist and starts pulling at his fly, blushing furiously and not meeting Neville’s eyes. 

Rubbing sleepily at his eyelids and glancing at the sunlit window, Neville mumbles, “What’re you doing?”

“I have a meeting with the Dark Lord tonight,” Draco practically squeaks. Neville’s eyebrows knit together, and Draco explains, “Not for me alone, of course, for all the people with slaves. He’ll want to know what I’ve been doing with you. While I’m a brilliant Legilimens, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold up under his watch.”

Neville’s half-listening. “Shouldn’t you get lube?”

“Fuck!” Draco practically throws himself off Neville and storms across the room, checking various drawers before heading to the washroom. Evidently this meeting has him quite rattled. 

“My head needs to be full of sex and you tied up!” Draco calls from the bathroom. When Neville groans, Draco sticks his head out the door, sneering, “What are you grumbling about—you’re getting laid!”

“Your way,” Neville grumbles, even though he knows it’s true, he shouldn’t really be complaining. For a slave, he’s treated remarkably well. ...It’s just that he doesn’t particularly like the thought of having anything up his ass...

“Your way,” Draco scowls, emerging with a clear bottle. “It has to be as sexy as possible so it’s all over my head and he can’t see past it to anything else. And if I want to ride you, I’m entitled, right? I’m the master, I should get it my way. Not everyone has to be a domineering fuckhole like Uncle Rodolphus.” After a short pause, he adds bitterly, “And they all think I’m weak anyway, it’s not like it’s going to surprise them that I prefer the bottom.”

Neville raises his eyebrows but doesn’t protest. He’ll get his way, then.

But... he is a little worried about Draco getting away with that. If anything happens to Draco, Neville will probably be passed to someone who isn’t so... kind, for lack of a better word. With the chance of both their escape much smaller.

And then he’d probably just worry about Draco too, because he’s grown attached. Draco’s no happier or safer here. Draco needs Harry to win this war as much as Neville does. Draco climbs back atop him, looking utterly miserable, and Neville helps reach up and undo the buttons on his shirt. 

Then it’s off, and while Draco’s lifting off and shuffling out of his trousers, Draco reaches up to grab his cheek. 

Draco stops instantly and looks down at him. 

“It’ll be okay,” Neville says, with true Gryffindor sureness that he has no right to have. Draco’s face is an odd mix of gratitude, relief, and pure fear. Gently thumbing the side of his face, Neville continues, “Anyway, it’s better not to worry about it. Just have fun. There’ll be more sex in your head if you’re enjoying it.”

Draco hisses, “But what if I enjoy it too much?”

“Then ‘the Dark Lord’ will keep that memory for when he jerks off later.”

Draco looks utterly scandalized and seethes, “That’s not funny!”

Neville grins. But he adds, “Don’t worry about it. He has more to worry about than which of his young, hormonal followers enjoy sex. You’re supposed to like it. If he asks, say you’re getting off on the power trip. He’s not reading my head; say I hate it. If I smile in the memories in your head, say in the moment I enjoy it, and I hate myself later.”

“Do you?”

“No,” Neville says, firm without hesitation. “And when Harry and the Order inevitably defeat Voldemort and his cronies, that’ll definitely go in your favour, so don’t worry about that, either.”

Draco shifts nervously and looks guiltily aside. Neville already knows Draco would prefer the light to win at this point. From his increasingly sallow demeanor, Neville thinks the entire Malfoy family must not be doing as well as they once thought. 

The light will win. Neville’s sure of it. 

In the meantime, Draco leans down to kiss him, warming up in seconds.


End file.
